Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [69]
“I didn’t think about Ellie. I should have thought about Ellie, but—”
“She needs you.”
“I know.”
“More than ever.”
“What about what I need, Mom?”
“We’ll work it out, okay?”
“I don’t see how.”
“Have a little faith.”
“I just want—”
“She’ll be at Janna’s, there will be sleepovers, there’s a week of Nature’s Classroom coming up in May.”
Alice crosses to her dad’s workbench.
“You’re not mad that I brought some pictures out here?”
“I’m not mad.”
“I want to light a candle for every day he’s missing.”
“Good idea with the jelly jars.”
“Yeah. I don’t want to burn the place down or anything.”
Angie looks around the workshop again: the clean floor, the sparkling windows, Matt’s orderliness echoed in Alice’s neat stack of books, clothes hung on pegs, the wood basket, the kindling.
“You cleaned up in here. It looks nice.”
“You know how Daddy had plans to put those windows in the west wall? I’m gonna figure out how to do that before he gets back. I’ll ask Uncle Eddie to help me.”
“Matt was so excited the day he found those windows.”
“It’ll open things up. More light.”
“And a view of his apple trees.”
Angie reaches out and straightens Alice’s collar.
“You’re wearing his jacket.”
“It was cold. I—”
“It’s okay, Alice.”
Angie sits down in the lawn chair near the woodstove. Alice stands nearby, uncertain what to do or say.
“Can I have it?” Angie asks.
“What?”
“The jacket. Just for a bit.”
Alice unbuttons the jacket, hands it to her mom. Angie hugs it to her, inhaling its scent.
“Mom . . .?”
“Throw another log on the fire, would you?”
The fire is blazing, but Alice adds another log anyway.
“Can you open the doors so I can watch it?”
Alice opens the doors of the woodstove, props up the temporary screen.
“That’s what Dad likes to do.”
She hears her mom take in a quick breath.
“I’d like to stay out here for a little while by myself, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Alice starts backing toward the door.
“I’ll be in soon.”
Alice hesitates.
“Don’t forget to close up the stove, Mom.”
“I won’t.”
Alice closes the door behind her and wishes she could look through the door to see her mom. Maybe she could replace the solid wood door with a glass one or put windows in on the sides. She’s thinking about windows because it is frankly too strange to think about her mom in her dad’s space like this, in her space, everything turned upside down, Alice outside in the chill wind, her mom by the fire. How did this happen?
But as of right now, right this instant, Alice has a new plan. She has decided to only think positive thoughts, to stop dwelling on all the terrifying what ifs that haunt her. She will keep those thoughts to herself and instead prepare for her dad’s return. His certain return. She will be the one to believe in him, believe in his strength and his ingenuity, his ability to talk to, to persuade anyone about anything, anywhere, anytime. She thinks about the way he can coach you so you don’t even realize he’s doing it, whether it’s how to throw a better pitch or how to strike a cleaner, stronger hammer blow.
When he comes home, if he’s still recovering from his wounds, or so badly hurt that it will take months to recover, then she will be the one to do things for him. She’ll drive him to the doctor’s because she’ll have her permit by then. When he’s ready to go back to work she’ll be his assistant, handling the things he’s not quite ready for, or the things that are too tough by the end of the day when he gets tired. She’ll fill his Thermos and pack his lunch. She’ll load the tool chest and the truck. She knows how to do these things, she’s been watching him and getting in the way her whole life.
It occurs to her that if, no, when, they find him, they’ll probably send him home as soon as they can debrief him and stabilize him at the hospital. So the garden has to be perfect. There will not be a weed anywhere, the successive plantings of red and green lettuce will be beautiful, the corn will be knee high, the tomatoes will